


terms of endearment

by essievv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester - Freeform, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Gay, Hunting, M/M, Sam Winchester - Freeform, castiel - Freeform, giving this another go dont attack me for being slow w uploading, so so gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essievv/pseuds/essievv
Summary: Or: Dean calls Castiel cute names. On accident. (Maybe.)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	terms of endearment

The first time it happens, it's an accident. Really. He hadn't meant it in a sweet way, but that's _exactly_ how it came off, and he knows this from the confused looks Sam and Bobby shoot his way. 

It goes like this: 

Castiel is hovering, as he does. 

Dean is hunched over an old, dusty map of some underground tunnels in Kentucky that lead all the way to fucktown, Mississippi. They’re old mine shafts; closed off to the point of _abandon all hope, ye who enter here_. 

They can’t get in, not really; it’s hexed out the ass end and jinxed up to high heaven. 

He's at a loss. 

They could use Cas, sure; but Dean is _itching_ for a case that doesn't involve wings and horns, something he can figure out and gank his damn self.

He misses this, just like this; the beer, the research, the dirty basement Bobby has never cleaned in his entire fucking life, apparently.

And then Cas chimes in, "I don't think you can go down there, Dean" 

Dean rolls his eyes and snorts, swallowing back the last of his beer. It’s warm and tastes like piss. Perfect. 

"Obviously. That's the whole... _thing._ But it's not about getting in there, Cas, it's about getting whatever's in there to come _out_."

Castiel's eyebrows push together like two fuzzy, angry caterpillars. Dean almost laughs again.

"That...can’t be smart. You could be killed,"

Dean sighs and plays with the water ring on the table, dragging droplets into each other until they form one big, warm puddle of condensation. 

"No, I can't. I have you, remember?" 

Cas shakes his head in disapproval, "I can't bring you back from the dead, Dean. It would be an imbalance." 

Cas walks forward and traces his finger along the trails of the map, eyes squinting. His tie falls over Dean's shoulder, a small trickle down the hunter's collar. 

Sam clears his throat. It’s awkward.

“You brought Bobby back,” he adds quietly, a _little_ offended over Castiel’s choice of words.

"You need virgin blood to lure it out," Cas reads to himself, very clearly ignoring Dean and yeah, okay; profound bond his _ass._

Dean sighs and turns in his chair, almost nose to nose with Cas, who doesn’t seem to have a single fuck to give. 

"Look, there's a bitch of a monster running to and from the start and end of this tunnel, leaving jinx after hex in its wake, and it's killing people. That's all we know about it."

"But you don't know what _it_ is?" Cas says, pulling back; head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. 

He wants to put a collar around Cas' neck and rub his ears.

"This is what we do, Cas. We're figuring it out. And no offense, but you're not helping."

He doesn't know where the harshness comes from. (That’s a lie. He knows.)

It's been a day.

"But it's-" Castiel starts but Dean cuts him off.

"No _buts_. And unless you're gonna go down there and kill that thing yourself, leave the bright ideas to me, angel." 

It's not a sentiment. It's not an insult. It just _is_ what Cas is. He didn't even think about it. 

Castiel nods and sighs. It's a human action, a practiced thing; something he only does when he's upset. 

Dean gives him a half-smile, an apology, and Cas' intense stare lets him know, _I get you._

And there come the looks. Dean swallows and turns to the map. He _kind of_ forgot they weren't alone.

His neck is hot. This chair is hard and it’s pressing into his back, his thighs; suddenly he can't be here anymore. He sighs and grabs his empty bottle by the neck, pushing himself up and stretching as manly as humanly possible.

"I need another beer. Or five," he laughs, but it's badly sold; and no one is buying. "Anybody else?" 

"No thanks, sweetheart," Bobby says, and Sam's laughter is noted for the ass-kicking Dean's going to give him later. Cas simply sighs again and sits at the empty chair opposite Dean wordlessly. 

"Ha, ha," he says dryly. "I didn't mean it that way."

"But you said it," Sam points out, clearing his throat, " _that_ way."

“No, I didn’t.” 

He didn’t. He definitely didn’t. Because Cas, as angelic as he may be, is not _his_ angel. He’s not his baby, his love, his boyfriend.

He’s Cas. That’s all he meant. 

He’s also too sober for all of this. 

“Okay, put your dicks away, contest over,” Bobby gruffs, adjusting his hat. Dean bites the inside of his lip and walks to the other room, tail between his legs. 

His bed is sounding _really_ good right about now. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
